She will die
by Pozagee
Summary: The untold story of Issacs and his two henchmen, Titch and Razor. Warning for attempted assault.


They were expert fighters – assassins, they could even be called, though their training hardly extended that far. In fact, the only training they had, had came from the oldest member of their 'team'.

They were an odd little band of fighters, sure enough. There was Issacs – the leader – Titch – the muscles – and Razor – the brains. Issacs was the oldest of them; the one who had trained them.

Truly...trained doesn't sound right, to fully describe the relationship between them. Issacs had practically raised them.

There was a time long ago, when Titch wasn't Titch, Razer wasn't Razer, and Issacs wasn't a man who was – basically – insane.

Titch used to be known as Viktor, and Razer as Dmitri. They were brothers, Viktor being the elder of the two. They didn't live in a nice community, where food was as easy to come by as air...no, they lived in an area that could only be a mere step above the sewers...

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A scrawny boy with dirty black hair glanced around the corner of a graffiti-marred building, eyes narrowed in concentration. There were several people around, though most looked to be asleep, or too-far-gone mentally to be concerned about. A dreadful smell wafted through the air, but the boy seemed unaffected by it.

He slipped around the corner, a frown planted firmly on his serious features. The boy was indeed very thin, and quite dirty. A long grimy shirt seemed to be his only form of clothing.

A small and quiet voice interrupted his concentration.

"Brat?" it whispered in a thick accent. "Brother?"

"What is it? I am trying to concentrate!" the older boy snapped in the same odd language the other voice had used.

Another pale and gaunt face appeared, along with the same grubby clothes and mangy mane as the older boy. "I am sorry, brother. Are you trying to find us food?"

The older boy closed his eyes, this sentence obviously upsetting him. "You should not be concerned about such things."

Though the boys were very similar in looks, the younger had an innocent look in his eyes. "But brother-"

"No. Go back to the shed." The younger boy complied.

The older boy took a couple hesitant steps away from the building, blue eyes darting everywhere. Suddenly a scream rippled through the air, coming from the alley the younger boy had disappeared into.

"Dmitri!" the older boy yelled, tearing back down the narrow passageway. He came to the end of it, where a small shack comprised of boxes and newspapers stood – but he didn't concern himself with that.

His little brother was pushed up against a dirt-caked wall by a large man – a man whose hands were touching the younger boy.

"You there! Get the fuck away from my brother!" the boy shouted.

"V-Viktor? He is hurting me..."

That was the last straw. Viktor lunged at the man, beating him and clawing at his arms – basically doing anything he could to get the man away from Dmitri.

Despite his emaciated form, Viktor knew how to use his small amount of strength to his advantage. The man stumbled back, blinking slowly in shock. Dmitri yanked on his underclothes, pulling them back into place, and adjusting his shirt. Viktor stood protectively in front of his brother, as the man advanced again.

"Oh, bu' wa'n't through wit' 'im yet..." The dirty man said. Dmitri whimpered, gathering fistfuls of his brother's shirt into his small hands.

"You are done with him. Leave." The man kept advancing, a nasty gleam in his eyes. Viktor started shaking, pushing himself and his little brother farther into the wall.

"I said l-leave!"

The man was so close now-

A sharp splitting sound echoed through the alley, and the man stopped walking. The boy's froze, as the man turned towards the mouth of the alley, a single word leaving his mouth. "You..."

The disgusting man collapsed, blood pooling around him. Dmitri curled into his brother's side, arms hugging him tightly. Viktor, however, looked towards the opening, eyes widening.

A man stood there. He was dressed sharply and cleanly, unlike the man that had hurt Dmitri. He had short blond hair, and was rather muscly. He was also holding a gun.

The new man strode down the alleyway, gun still at the ready. He pointed it at the body, kicking the side of the corpse. He nodded his head sharply, obviously pleased, before turning the gun on the two brothers.

Viktor maneuvered them around, so Dmitri was hidden behind him. The man just stared at them with stony eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Please," Viktor pleaded in his native tongue. "Please, we mean no harm."

The man blinked, before uttering something in a language unknown to the boys. He tried saying some things in various other languages. Finally, the man said, "English?"

"Da, I know a little," Viktor said quietly. Dmitri was quaking horribly behind him, a few small moans the only indication that he was in pain.

The blond man slowly lowered his gun, looking at the boys. He noticed how undernourished and dirty they were, and his eyes softened slightly as he kneeled down to their height. "Where do you come from. Have you any parents?"

"No...we live in the shed," Viktor said quietly, nodding his head towards the stack of trash.

"I see... My name is Issacs, by the way," the man – Issacs – said.

Viktor bit his lip, before saying, "My name is Viktor, and my brother is called Dmitri."

A large blue eye poked around his brother, tears still swimming in it.

"Ah. It is a pleasure to meet you...Are you all right?" Issacs asked, adjusting something around his ear.

"I am fine...but that man...he hurt my brother..."

Issacs's eyes darkened. "I see..." He yanked something out of his ear, tossing it aside. "Perhaps...perhaps I can help you two..."

Dmitri came out of hiding, looking at the man. Viktor bit his lip, unsure.

"M-Mister Issacs? Do...d-do you have any f-food?" Dmitri asked hesitantly. Viktor set a warning hand on his brother's shoulder.

Issacs gave a small, almost sad smile. "No, I have none on me...but...at my house I have a lot...would you perhaps like some?"

Dmitri nodded quickly, reaching for the man's hand. Viktor stopped him. "I am being sorry, Mister Issacs. We cannot go with you..."

Issacs sighed. "I understand. I will bring you food though; I promise."

And he did. For a few weeks, the blond man brought them food and blankets. The boys didn't notice how he became unkept; they felt safe and protected for the first time in their life.

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Eventually, the boys trusted Issacs enough to live with him. They didn't stay anywhere for long; Issacs was on the run, you see.

But it made no difference. Issacs raised them, trained them, and cared for them. They got their nicknames, and they became killers-for-hire. They got good. They got mentally scarred and shattered.

Somehow, though, Dmitri was able to keep a little bit of his childlike innocence.

He smiled, laughed, and enjoyed candy. He laughed at movies, read books when he could, and even flirted with girls on occasion.

That's why it hurt the other two men more than any physical wound could, to see him dead, deep slashes across his chest.

Viktor just stood there, arm holding his side from where the metal shipping box had slammed into him. Issacs stared at the youngest boy, his face a mask of sadness and anger.

"She will die. Hanna will die." Viktor said simply, an unwilling tear running down his scarred face.

Issacs picked up the smaller boy, Dmitri's blood tainting the bright jumpsuit. "She will indeed," he said, hugging the dead boy close.

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A/N Do you know why I wrote this? I don't. I guess I was just inspired by the untold stories of Issacs and his henchmen. So here it is. XD :D :) :| :( :C

Anyway, thank you for reading! Please review!


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